The Elephant in the Living Room
by Jane Harper
Summary: #3 in the Band of Sisters series. So much that We Don't Talk About. A "Bartlet's 3rd State of the Union"pre/ post-ep.


Band of Sisters: The Elephant in the Living Room

Jane Harper, Becky Anderson and Cait Baer

Rating: PG-13

Synopsis: Elephant? What elephant? We're Democrats!

Archive: Sure, why not. It will be on my website and fanfiction.net before the pixels are cold.

Disclaimer: Aaron Sorkin is a genuinely evil genius and all this is his. Except for Sarah, who wouldn't mind being on loan . . . 

"OK, Joshua, Lessa's got everything you'll need for the next few days lined up. I'll call in every morning and make sure she has your ducks all in a row, but I'm officially out of here." Donna blinked rapidly and turned to look out Josh's office window.

"I wish you didn't have to do this," he said, looking down at his papers.

"Well I do," she answered. "It's time I leave the nest. Lessa will take good care of you. She might even bring you coffee, she's old-fashioned that way. And she knows you like your hamburgers burnt beyond recognition."

"OK."

"You can still call me if you need something and she doesn't know where to find it."

"OK."

"So I'm going now . . ."

"OK."

She hesitated, then turned and put her hand on the doorknob. "Joshua . . ."

"Donna, get the hell out of my office and go to work."

* * * * *

"Is she gone?" Leo asked Josh as they passed in the bullpen. "Josh?"

"Huh?"

"Is she gone?"

"Is who gone?"

"Queen Victoria."

"Uh, yeah, she's real dead."

"And Donna . . ."

"She's gone, Leo. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yeah. You OK?"

"I'm doing the happy dance, why would I not be OK?"

"Just checking. Come see me when you've got a minute."

McGarry walked around to the other side of the West Wing and into Toby's office. "So what's the cover story?" he asked.

"Somebody made her an offer she couldn't refuse," Ziegler answered with a smirk.

* * * * *

"Leo, I haven't seen Donna around for a few days, is she all right?"

"Sir?"

"Donna's been missing, is she OK?"

"She's not working for us any more, sir."

"She's what?"

"She got a better offer. You didn't notice the revolving door outside?"

"I'm sorry to hear that. She'll be missed."

__

You have no idea. "Yes, sir. Are you ready for the conference call?"

* * * * *

Toby strode into Leo's office at the end of the day. "So how'd it go over?"

Leo looked up from his briefing book. "It seemed to go well." He took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"She called a little while ago, they're down to details on the lease negotiations."

"She's gonna surprise all of us, Toby."

"Not all of us."

McGarry stood as he saw the President come through the connecting door, but Bartlet waved him back into his chair and sat down himself. "So," he asked, "when were you two gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what, sir?" Leo asked.

"And why the hell did you have to call it the Committee to Re-Elect the President?"

Toby chuckled. "I'm sorry, sir, call _what _the Committee to Re-elect?"

"You're denying that you've already started the wheels turning?" Bartlet had a pasted-on frozen smile.

"Mr. President, how could we do that without your cooperation?" Leo asked. "And Abbey's?"

"The first would be just like the two of you; the latter, though, would involve bloodshed and I don't think either of you is that stupid. This place is such a rumor mill . . ." Bartlet got up again and wandered back into the Oval Office.

Leo and Toby sighed visibly. "OK, how are we gonna keep Abbey off this thing?" Ziegler finally asked his mentor.

"I've got some ideas," he answered with a sly smile. He picked up the phone on his desk and punched a speed-dial button. "Hey, Toots!"

* * * * *

Sarah picked up the phone in her office. "Sarah Cooper. . . Hey, Irish! 'Sup?"

"I just thought you'd wanna know, I'm actually gonna get outta here at a decent hour. Want me to stop and get something for dinner?"

"Be still my heart! Wait, it's . . ." She looked at her beautiful new watch, a Chanukkah gift from him. "It's not even noon yet, how can you know already when you're gonna get out of there?"

"Because I'm the head guy in charge, that's why!"

She laughed out loud. "Uh huh, so _you_ say."

"And besides, the people I was supposed to be huddled with over dinner cancelled."

"That's more like it. And no, if I'm gonna have you home for once, I'll take care of dinner, thank you. You just get your butt home on time, because by eight o'clock _everything_ there will be cold. And I mean _everything_."

She could hear the grin in his voice. "Aye aye, ma'am." The line went dead.

"Y'know, you could learn to say good-bye," she said to the silent receiver.

* * * * *

Toby hung up the receiver and strode over to the other side of the West Wing.

"Margaret, is he..?"

She nodded.

He rapped on Leo's door.

"Yeah?"

Toby opened the big wooden door to see McGarry on the sofa with his feet up and a stack of memos on his midsection. "So that's how you do it," he said with a smirk.

"Do what?"

"Don't think we haven't noticed that you've lost that spare tire. Lifting weights with your stomach?"

Leo laughed, grabbed the stack of papers and sat up.

"Or has Sarah just been keeping you in shape?" Ziegler continued with a twinkling eye.

"That's most assuredly none of your business," the Chief of Staff answered. "Did you want something, or did you just come here to kvetch?"

"Actually I came here to kvell."

"Do what?"

Toby chuckled. "Brag. Don't bring the Yiddish—"

"Yeah, yeah, about what?"

"Donna just called to say the lease is solid, we got a great rate for a fairly short-term contract, but you're not gonna like the address."

"Where is it, Baltimore?" Leo scratched the side of his neck.

"It's at the Watergate."

* * * * *

Mallory looked puzzled as she knocked on Sam's office door. "Hi sweetheart," she said as she leaned over his desk to kiss him hello.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked with a smile.

"I'm having lunch with Zoey and she wanted to come by and pick some things up from the Residence."

"So wha'zup? You look confused."

"Well I am a little," she said as she sat down. "I asked Zoey something about the campaign—"

"You _what???_"

"—and she didn't know what I was talking about. I guess you just told me why."

"Mal, Sarah told me she warned you that this was a secret."

The young woman looked at the floor. "I forgot?"

Sam just sighed.

"How long do you think you're going to be able to keep it from them?"

"Long as we need to, I guess." He looked over Mallory's shoulder to see the First Daughter in the bullpen. "Zoey's here. Be careful, please?" He got up and came around the desk to walk Mallory to the door.

"Hey Sam," Zoey called.

He waved to Zoey as he kissed Mallory goodbye, and the two women left.

* * * * *

Toby looked up from his desk to see Sarah at his office door.

"Lunch wagon!" she said. "Pastrami on rye with mustard, right?"

"Yeah, that'll do, if you have an extra pickle."

"For you? Anything. You can even have _my_ pickle."

He laughed. "_Your_ pickle is over on the other side of the building and I don't want him."

She threw a wad of paper napkins at him.

"So," he asked through a mouthful of sandwich, "what can I do for you?"

"Ah, my friend, it's what can _I_ do for _you_."

Toby's gaze flew briefly heavenward. "You're beginning to sound like him, you know."

"You should be so lucky."

"OK, what can you do for me?"

"Well, a few of us got together, and . . . . "

* * * * *

". . . and she said that the four of them intend to get all the women they can find who are even marginally associated with the campaign involved in this support-and-sustenance thing. I don't think she knows what the hell's about to hit her."

"Well, Toby, sometimes people have to find these things out by themselves."

"You're saying you didn't know?"

"No, I'm not saying that." Donna smiled.

"You _did_ know?"

"I'm not saying that either."

"You've been working for us too long."

She got up and went over to the coffee pot and poured a fresh cup. "That's possible, but I doubt it, since you seem to want to keep me around." She started back for her desk then stopped and picked up the pot again. "Want some more as long as I'm up?"

"Donna, are you feeling well?" Toby asked with a smirk.

"Hey, I'd expect you to do the same if you were standing here with a coffeepot in your hand."

"Fair point," Ziegler answered. "And this lease is incredible, how in the world did you get them to agree to this pittance?"

"I told them we'd provide our own security. I think they were relieved."

* * * * *

Zoey looked up over the chef salad. "Mallory, did you mean to be saying that my Dad doesn't know?"

Mallory blanched. "Doesn't know what?"

"That he's running for reelection."

"Is he?"

"Don't be coy, Mal. I may be young but I'm not stupid."

Mallory heaved a sigh. "OK, I guess we're busted."

The younger girl waited.

"Dad says that the President is gonna have a fit if he realizes that the other guys have already started to run against him. They're afraid he'll decide he wants to go home."

"Mom would be in favor of that."

"I just bet she would."

"But Dad will come around eventually."

"He will?"

"Yeah. He chewed my ass good last year when I was chafing at the protection, about what an incredible privilege this is, and how lucky we are, and he has never _ever_ walked away from a job half-done. Besides, you and I both know that your Dad could sell shoes to a snake."

Mallory laughed. "Yeah." She pushed the pasta around her plate. "You gonna tell him?"

"Mallory, I said I'm not stupid. Leo's gonna have to take his own medicine, I'm not taking it for him. I'll let them both go on thinking I'm just a dumb naïve college kid." She grinned at her friend.

"Well in that case, let me tell you what Sarah and I are up to . . . ."

* * * * *

Leo groaned. "Why is it every time we actually sit down for a dinner that's before midnight, someone has to interrupt it?" he grumbled.  
  
"Murphy's Law," Sarah replied, wheeling away from the table. "I'll get it. You eat. You're looking a little bit peakéd, if you ask me."

  
"Who asked you?" he shot back with a grin.  
  
"Smart ass." Sarah looked out of her special peephole. She didn't recognize the woman standing at the door, so she left the chain in as she opened the door. "Can I help you?"  
  
"Yeah... is this Leo McGarry's home?" the woman asked in a lilting Irish brogue.  


"Who wants to know?" Sarah inquired. For all she knew, this woman was a member of the press...  
  
"Just tell him that Sian wants to see him, please," the girl said in a pleading tone of voice. "He'll know who I am. My mother said I could stay with him..."  


Sarah called over her shoulder at Leo, who was beginning to rise, "Leo, do you know someone named Sian?"  


"Sian?" he asked. "Oh my God, yes, let her in!" his pace quickened as he got closer to the door. He came around Sarah to greet the girl with open arms. "Sweet Pea, you didn't tell me you were coming!"  


"Mum said she called you," the young woman said as she moved her bags into the foyer.  
  
He blushed a little, "Yeah, she did, I forgot." He grabbed a couple of the bags and pushed past Sarah with them. "Come this way, baby, this is your room for as long as you want it."  


Sarah watched as the two of them carried things down the hallway to the guest room. "Uh, hello? You want me to set another place for dinner?"  
  
He turned back and called over his shoulder, "Please, Sarah?" Then he put the bags down in the guest room, and hugged the girl again. "You're going to love this, Sarah's a fabulous cook."  


"Where'd you find her, Uncle Leo? I hear good help is hard to get in the States."  


He stifled a laugh. "She's not the cook, Sian, she's . . . well, she's . . . "  
  
The girl grinned. "Oh ok. Sorry. How've you been?" 

"Crazed."  
  
"And what else is new? Besides your... friend? How's Aunt Jenny?"  
  
Leo frowned. "Didn't your mother tell you?"  
  
"Tell me what?"  
  
"Jenny and I are divorced."  
  
Sian's eyes widened. "You're joking," she accused. "Aren't you?" 

He shook his head slowly, and she looked back and forth between Leo and Sarah. 

"So this is... Oh, no, I'm sorry... I'm so completely stupid!" She looked totally dazed. "Uncle Leo, I'm sorry..."  
  
"It's not me you have to apologize to, Sian Maire," he said almost angrily.  


"How do I apologize to someone I don't even know?"  
  
"The same way you offend them," he growled.  


Sarah rolled into the bathroom, threw some cold water in her face and sighed. Even if she hadn't heard the conversation going on in the dining room, she'd know Sian hadn't meant anything, but it was still hard. She turned and opened the bathroom door, only to run into their new houseguest again.  
  
"I'm really sorry," the girl began. "This is a horrible way to meet someone, I know. Should I leave and come in again?" She smiled feebly, waiting for Sarah's reaction.  
  
"Nah, that's OK. I was raised Catholic, I know how your mother probably feels about her apostate brother. Besides, Leo's managed to keep the divorce out of the papers, and I guess that's a mixed blessing."  


"Oh how awful for you," Sian answered. "People must think terrible things when they see you together."  
  
"Well, they mostly don't," Sarah responded as they reached the dining room again. "See us together, that is. We've not been to a public function together."  


"Uncle Leo!" the youngster said in a chiding tone. "How dare you keep your lovely friend hidden? You have nothing to be ashamed of!"  
  
"I know that, Sian. It's not that, we haven't had anything big and public for me to take her to."  
  
"But I was reading the paper on the ride in from the airport and there was something about a President's Day dinner . . ??"  
  
Leo looked over at Sarah as the three of them sat back down. "You wanna go, Toots?"  
  
"When is it?"  
  
"Fourth of July, when did you think?" His eyes twinkled at her.  
  
"I mean, is it on the day, or when?"  
  
"It's the Friday after, that's what, four weeks?"  
  
"I can do that. Yes, I'd very much like to go. If you think it'd be ok . . ?"  


"And your manners haven't improved any I see. When are you going to actually introduce me to your friend?" Sarah could see the family resemblance in the smirk.  


"You're right, Sian, I'm still a pig. Sarah Cooper, may I present Sian Maire McCall, my niece, Lizzie's daughter." He reached for the vegetables. "Here, girl, have some dinner. You're a ghost."  
  
"Me? You've got to be kidding." She took the bowl anyway. "These smell delicious."  
  
"Well, eat up, kiddo," Sarah said with a grin. "And there's always more where that came from. Now, what was this about a play?"  
  
Sian served herself some food and blushed slightly. "I'm in the company of 'Three in One'."  
  
"In the company?" Leo protested. "You won an award... I forget what."  
  
"An Olivier, and it was for Supporting Actress in a Dramatic Play," Sian said, her blush deepening. "We're opening the play here in Washington, and hope to move it to Broadway next season."  


Sarah nodded. "Is it any good?"  
  
"The West End seems to think so," Sian murmured with a shrug, taking a bite.  
  
"Your mother seems to think so," Leo interjected. "Didn't it open in Dublin before moving to London?"  
  
"How come you can remember that, and not that I was coming?" Sian asked, injury on her face.  


"I've got a lot on my mind," Leo said with a sigh.  
  
"Uh-huh," Sarah replied with a side-long glance in his direction. "Who wrote the play?"  
  
"David Rothman... he got lucky with a few words and a lot of chutzpah," Sian said.

Leo rolled his eyes around and muttered, "I'm surrounded."

"Sarah, these are magnificent! What are they? I must e-mail the recipe to Mum."  


"Oh it's just a mixture of chickpeas and sauteéd veggies. Here, have some noodles."  
  
"She's too modest, Sian. Sarah's the best cook I know."  
  
"Then why aren't you fatter, Uncle Leo?" She grinned at him. "Or do I have to ask?"  
  
"Sian!"  


"Uncle Leo!" She giggled and turned to Sarah. "Isn't he cute when he blushes?"  


Sarah looked down at her noodles and chicken, wanting to agree and not daring. "So how long is your run here in DC?"  
  
"Well you know that depends, if the critics like us and people come, we'll be here a few months. Otherwise . . ." Sian shrugged.  
  
"You know," Leo began, "I could get you a few high-profile guests that might draw a crowd."  
  
"We want people to come to see the _play_, not the _audience._ But thank you."  


"Still," he answered. "I'd like to bring some people thisSaturday if that's ok. We'll pay for the seats of course."  
  
"Like hob you will," Sian answered. "How many would you like?"  
  
"Well let's see," he counted on his fingers, "there's Sarah and me, and let's see about Mallie and Sam, and maybe Zoey and Charlie?"  


"Oh how is Mallory, Uncle Leo?"  
  
"Same as ever," he laughed.  
  
Sarah's eyes twinkled. "She's in love. And Leo, what about Margaret, isn't her birthday this weekend? Let's invite her and a friend."  


Sian bounced a little in her seat. "Mallie's in love? Oooh, tell me all about him. It _is _a him, isn't it?"  
  
Leo choked on a bite of chicken. "What made you think it might not be?"  
  
"Well nothing, but I don't like to assume these things."  


Leo looked thoughtful. "I can't remember, Sian, have you met Zoey Bartlet?"  
  
"Of course, we met when you were all in London for that meeting, G-something?"  
  
"Right, G8. I forgot that Zoey came along." He turned to Sarah. "The President wanted to show her his old hangouts, a few of which are actually still standing."  


"Listen, Uncle Leo, I love you lots but I'm beat, jet lag. Sarah, it was a wonderful dinner, but I'm falling asleep in my noodles . . ." She got up and carried her plates out to the kitchen, then stopped, with a confused look. "You have two . . . of everything!"  
  
"Just leave them in the right hand sink, Sweet Pea, we'll deal with them," Leo said with a chuckle.  
  
"OK, Uncle Leo. G'nite," she said as she passed him, headed for the guest room.  
  
"Oh, no," he responded, jumping out of his seat. "It's been too long since I've seen you, you're not getting by that easy." He grabbed her and gave her a fierce hug, and a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"What's gotten into you?" she asked with a giggle. "You never used—"  


Sarah laughed. "He's old, but he's trainable," she called down the hallway.  


"So I see!" Sian replied with a giggle. She went into the bedroom, but turned around a moment later and came back into the hallway. "Shari McGinnis and I were thinkin' about going on the White House tour tomorrow. Is it any good?"  
  
"No, it stinks," Sarah said with a laugh as Leo slapped at her.  
  
"I'll get you two security passes and have CJ take you around," Leo said. "And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me."  


Sian laughed. "All right. I'll see you both if I'm alive in the morning... after this jet lag, who knows." She went back into the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her.

* * * * *  


Sarah was already under the quilts when Leo came to bed. "OK," she said, "spill it. What were you going to talk to me about before Sian arrived?"

He chuckled. "Am I that transparent? Don't answer that."

She waited for him to come out of the bathroom.

"I don't know where," he called out with a mouthful of toothpaste, "but it looks like the President has heard about what Toby and I are doing."

"What happened?"

"He came wandering into my office this morning and asked us when we were figuring on telling him."

"I'd've _paid_ for a ticket to _that_," she answered. "What did you say?"

He came out of the bathroom and slid into bed beside her. "Oh, we tap danced around it, but I don't know how much longer we're gonna be able to do that. And maybe I'm just getting old and tired, but I'm not sure how much longer I want to."

Sarah studied his face; he had aged five years in the ten months she'd known him. Not sure what to say, she snuggled down onto his shoulder and put an arm around his waist.

He sighed. "A year ago we said screw it, public discourse is more important than polling numbers, we're gonna put the issues on the table. We'd made a great start, hacking away at the support for soft money, getting ready for the midterm elections, making the rhetoric mean something. Then came Rosslyn."

"Nearly dying can make people take a look at how they live," she said.

"Yeah, but it should have made us _more_ forceful, _more_ on the issues, and it didn't. We've wussed out. We're back on the safe path. Part of it was the shooting, but I think a big part of it was the midterms; we got our asses kicked. So here I am, pulling the wagon back toward the middle of the road, hating every step of it."

"Is this the President's choice, or . . . ?"

"He hasn't said anything concrete about it, one way or the other. Toby and Sam are putting the final polish on the State of the Union; when he sees it, we'll know. It's his manifesto for the campaign, we just haven't told him that yet."

"He's not stupid, Irish."

"No, but he can be incredibly blind when he doesn't want to see."

"Can't we all."

He pulled her hair back off her face and stroked her cheek softly with the back of his hand. "Yeah. And dumb too. Take me for instance."

She grinned. "Take you where?"

"Anywhere you want, Toots . . . I'm gonna stop being an idiot and wasting time talking about politics when I'm in bed with a beautiful woman and neither one of us is particularly sleepy . . . "

"Careful," she murmured as he turned to kiss her. "We shouldn't wake the children . . . "

* * * * *

Toby was standing reading over Sam's shoulder as he wrote. "One in four of our sisters, mothers, daughters, and women friends . . . " He scratched his head. "Women friends? That's pretty awkward."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "but if I just say 'friends' it's not parallel."

"Sure it is, when you mention the VAWA it'll be pretty apparent that you don't mean _men_ friends."

"OK." Seaborn went on typing.

"Oh that's good," Toby said. He continued reading: "It is not our intention to protect the helpless, for women are hardly that. It is not our intention to place women on a pedestal, for doing so only results in their further marginalization. It is our intention, pure and simple, to classify violence against women as the crime of hatred that it is, not about sex, but about power and the need for the perpetrator to control his target."

"Thank you," Abbey Bartlet said as she entered through the open office door.

"For what?" Toby asked.

"For not saying 'victim'."

Sam smiled. "You're welcome. Mallory would skin me alive."

The First Lady grinned. "She'd have to take a number."

"Careful, Mrs. Bartlet," Toby said with a smirk. "You're dangerously close to biting the hand that writes your husband's speeches."

"Jed's really climbing out on a limb with this one," she responded, changing the subject. "Isn't he?"

"Considering the nose dive our numbers took last year when we hammered the hate crimes bill through? Yeah, I'd say so," Toby responded. "But this means a lot to him."

"Actually it doesn't," Abbey said with a grin. "It means a lot to _me_ and I've been lobbying like the ACLU at the Booksellers' Association to get him to support it. Looks like it worked."

"We'll see," Toby responded. "He hasn't seen this section yet."

* * * * *

After the bows, Sian rushed back to her dressing room to change out of her costume. Bounding down the stairs to meet everyone, she jumped the last four steps and barely managed to land on her feet. "Hi," she said, "So... are we a success?"  


Leo pulled a bouquet of peace roses out from behind his back. "Yep," he said with a smile.

  
"My favorites! You remembered!" she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek.

Sian laughed and hugged Zoey, who had just elbowed her way in. "I'm glad you liked it. Now, I'm starving! Is there anywhere in this town that's still open and serving food?"  


Plenty of places," Mallory said with a smile. "What do you want?"  
  
"Well, to tell the truth, I'd _kill_ for some paella about now," Sian laughed.  
  
"Heavens, girl, you don't eat small, do you?" Sarah teased with a grin.  
  
"Nope!" Sian giggled, patting Sarah on the shoulder. "Uncle Leo, I like her. Can we keep her?"  


"Ya think?" he asked with a smirk.  
  
A brief huddle ensued deciding where to find good paella at nearly midnight, and the group set off in several cars to meet at the restaurant. Halfway there, Leo turned to Sarah, chagrined.  
  
"Toots, why didn't you say something?"  
  
"Because I didn't want to rain on everybody else's parade?"  


"But what are you going to do?"  
  
"See if there's anything there I can eat!" She forced a smile. "Besides," she added, "I doubt if there's any kosher paella in the District."  
  
They were the last ones to arrive and found the younger folks already in a lively discussion . . . about politics, of course.  
  
"Let me get this straight," Sian was saying. "You punish people worse for hurting somebody if they hate them first?"  
  
"Not exactly," Mallory responded. "The law classifies certain groups as targets of hate crimes, and if someone belongs to one of those classes—"

"Who decides who those groups are? I wouldn't think one would be anxious to get on that list."  


"Congress does," Sam answered. "That's what the Violence Against Women Act is about, it designates women a protected class under the Hate Crimes Act."  
  
"So we're feeble and unable to defend ourselves, so . . . "  
  
"That's not it," Zoey piped in. "I don't know what the statistics are in Britain, but in the US one woman in four will be the object of a crime of violence in her lifetime."  
  
"Well that did it," Leo mumbled. "We don't need to worry about her wanting to stay here now."  


"Now Dad," Mallory cracked, "she can stay, she just has to buy a gun first."

Sarah laughed. "She's a McGarry, she'd be disqualified for mental defect."

"If you ask me," Sian responded with a smirk, "it's only the mental defectives who'd want the damn things."  
  
"I can drink to that," Sam said. "Anybody besides me want a beer?"  


"I'll take one, even if it's cold," Sian answered. Ron, Zoey, Charlie, and Mallory all raised their hands and Sam left for the bar. Then Sian turned to Charlie. "You're being very quiet through all this."  
  
"Yes ma'am," he said.  
  
"Charlie," Leo teased, "you don't have to call her ma'am. You gave that up on Mallory a long time ago, and she's my daughter, not my niece. Besides, we're off duty."  


"You can call me anything," Sian quipped with a wink, "so long as you call me."  


Margaret piped up, saying with a smirk, "You'd better watch it, Sniggles. Zoey's got her mom's claws." She looked at Ron for confirmation with a smile. He merely smiled slightly and shook his head.  


"Sniggles?" Sian said with a groan of despair. "And besides, Zoey knows I'm harmless. Charlie is all hers."  
  
"Y'know," Mallory said with a crafty smile, "I wouldn't mind seeing the look on Sam's face if you were to flirt with him."  
  
"Mallory!" Leo said, horrified.

"Oh, like Sniggles said, it's harmless," Mallory replied with a shrug.

"Would you stop calling me Sniggles?" Sian asked, spearing a chunk of chicken with her fork. "The next person who calls me that is gonna get hit with this." She brandished the fork and grinned.  
  
Sam came back over with a tray, carrying several beers. "They're nice and cold..."  
  
"And what is it with Americans and cold beer? Frankly, it's disgusting!" Sian grumbled under her breath. Turning to Sam, who sat beside her, she turned on a sunny smile. "So... how much do I owe you for the beer?" she inquired, lowering the pitch of her voice until it was silky smooth.  


Sam looked at her oddly. "Nothing... I'll pick it up," he said, glancing at Mallory, who was eating quietly.  
  
"Oh, really, Sam... let me get it," Sian purred, reaching for her purse and pulling out a bill. She carefully folded it and tucked it into Sam's pant's pocket, smiling alluringly all the while. Sam choked, and began coughing.  
  
"Sam, honey, is something wrong?" Mallory asked, trying to fight back laughter.  


Sarah wasn't so lucky, and she burst out laughing at the sight of the horror on Sam's face. The rest of the table erupted into laughter, with the exception of Leo, who just shook his head and said, "You people are freaks."  


Sarah coughed from trying to laugh and swallow at the same time, then cleared her throat. "Leo, you are such a hypocrite. I seem to remember a story about Sam and Mallory and a memo . . . So don't sit there and act as if you never tease poor Sammeleh."  
  
"Sammeleh?" Sam asked. "What's a Sammeleh?"  
  
Ron looked up from his beer. "It's Yiddish," he said quietly. "Sam with a diminutive suffix. She's calling you 'little Sam'."  
  
Mallory laughed. "Little Sam? Oh I am _so_ not going there."  


"None of us are," Leo said, stifling a smirk.  
  
"Mom! See what you did?" Sam's voice rose to a squeak.  
  
Sian looked back and forth from Sam to Sarah. "You two are . . ??"  
  
"No," Mallory said. "It's a long story, but Sam's sort of adopted Sarah, and vice versa. They're not really kin."  


Sarah fought to control her features. "My father was a traveling salesman, we're both from California; you never know about these things, we could be related."

"Can we get back to what we were talking about?" Zoey asked. "Sian, are you really against the idea of society showing its condemnation of hatred by designating certain offenses as hate crimes and acting accordingly?"  
  
"Well, I don't see why getting punched in the mouth for being an obnoxious jerk is any less painful than getting punched in the mouth for being . . . I dunno . . ."  
  
"Irish?" Zoey asked.

"Oof," Leo said. "You're your mother's daughter, Zoey."  
  
"Thank you!" she answered. "Well?" the First Daughter looked at their new friend.  


"Look at it this way," Charlie began. "Let's say you knew a guy, went out with him a few times, got to like him, and one night he started acting weird and possessive and before you knew it he was thumping you for . . . oh, flirting with Sam for instance." He grinned. "Don't you think that's something different than a mugging?"  
  
"For whom?" Sian asked, suddenly serious. "Trust me, the woman's just as bloody."  


The table grew suddenly quiet. Sarah reached over and put her hand on Sian's shoulder. "You sound like you know about these things."  
  
"I do," the girl answered. "From personal experience."  
  
"I'll kill him," Leo said.  
  
"No, you won't, Uncle Leo. He's in jail. I put him there."  


Margaret looked down the table at Sian. "A lot of women wouldn't even have reported it, regardless of where they are," she said.  
  
Sian shrugged. "Look, it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you cannot, in all good conscience, separate crimes that are so much the same. A rape at gunpoint is the same, fundamentally as..." She stopped short. "Never mind that example. But... a crime is a crime, whether they're motivated by hate or greed."  


"How can you say that?" Zoey queried.  
  
"Because I'm Irish, and I've seen things you would never want to see, Zoey. Because I'm Irish, I was almost in a bombing. I've lost friends in the North to the Troubles. You can't understand hate crimes here, you've never seen them! Even your shooting in Rosslyn is a drop in the pond in comparison!" Sian stood up, nearly in tears. "Excuse me."  


After she had left, headed for the bathroom, Mallory sighed. "I don't know whether to say she's a genius, or say she's totally ignorant about the world around her."  


Sarah looked quietly into her salad, then back up at Mallory. "In this country we've never lived in a war zone, Mal, at least not a declared war. And we've never had genocide that was recognized for what it was. I'm of two minds myself, on the one hand as a Jew I want to see the government come down four-square against anti-Semitism of any kind. On the other hand, as a nurse, I've seen victims of violence for all sorts of reasons, and they all bleed the same." She blinked back her own tears and looked out the window. "Mal, will you go see if she's ok? I don't think the bathroom here is accessible . . . "  


The dinners arrived and everyone began to eat in silence. Finally Margaret looked up from her plate and sighed. "Well, Sian, welcome to life inside the Beltway."

* * * * *

On the way home in the car, Leo's cell phone rang.

"McGarry. . . What? . . . Oh God, you're kidding. . . Who—? . . I'm there." He turned to Sarah. "Sorry Toots, I gotta go."

"What's up? Something you can tell me?"

"May as well, it's in tomorrow's paper. One of our own people has written an op-ed saying that our support of VAWA shows—their words—'shows once more that the Bartlet administration sees itself as the Thought Police'."

"This is a _Democrat_ saying this?" she was incredulous.

"Yeah. With friends like these . . . "

* * * * *

Toby stormed into Leo's office, the last to arrive back at the West Wing in the wee hours of that Sunday morning. "Once more I find myself asking, how could we not have known this? How?"

"More to the point, Toby, how the hell did the text of the speech get leaked to these bastards?" Leo was on his feet, pacing.

"Are you accusing me of something?" Ziegler asked.

Josh stepped between the two long-time allies. "Of course he isn't, Toby. You're certainly not the only one who's had his hands on the copy." He pasted on a lopsided grin. "Sam probably did it."

"Not funny, old buddy," Seaborn shot back.

Josh shrugged. "I tried."

CJ pounded the table with her fist. "Boys? Can we focus here please? The horse is out of the barn, and there's plenty of time to find out who unlocked the door. What we need to have is a roundup strategy."

"I really liked that, CJ," Josh responded. "A coherent metaphor at this hour of the morning. I'm impressed."

Leo sat down at the conference table with the other four. "Well the shortest way to deal with this is to cut that section out of the speech. That will not only make them look stupid but give us time to decide how to manage the issue."

Sam's jaw clenched. "You can't do that, Leo. The President approved it, he gave his word to Mrs. Bartlet, he thinks it will be there."

"When he sees the papers this morning, he'll understand."

* * * * *

Bartlet was still in his suit from Mass when he stormed into the Oval Office. "The Thought Police, Leo? The _Thought Police?_"

"Yes, sir."

"Who does this idiot think he is?"

"I believe that's _their_ question, sir."

"I will not have these people dictating terms on something that you and I both know is absolutely the right thing to do. We got the bill through last year, we'll get this one too, and for the same reasons. The people want—"

"Mr. President, the people want not to be punished for what they think."

"And you believe that's what we're trying to do." It was a statement, not a question.

"I think that's how many people see it, and a fair number of those people are in our own party."

The President sighed, and his shoulders sank. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You know, Leo, I try to see other points of view, you know I do. But on this one, I just can't. How can it not be more heinous to hurt someone for who they are than for something they did?"

"But doesn't the perpetrator do the crime for who _they_ are? Isn't it at least as much about the criminal than the victim?"

"Either way . . ." Bartlet's voice trailed off.

Leo took a deep breath and tried again. "Mr. President, do you remember my niece Sian?"

Bartlet frowned. "Is there a connection here, or are we just going to reminisce about old times now?"

Leo decided to ignore the barb and go on. "Last evening a number of us went to see the play that she's in that opened here in town last night. Afterward we all went out to dinner and this very subject came up. Turns out, she was beaten to a pulp by a boyfriend, one who's now incarcerated thanks to her guts and her testimony."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you sir, I'll convey your regrets." He looked at his old friend's face, sorry to have to be so forceful. "She presented the very argument I'm making, that a crime is a crime regardless of motive. And she's been up close and personal with this thing."

The President was back on his feet, walking over to sit on the corner of the huge wooden desk. "We've always had differential penalties based on motive, Leo. The Rosenbergs were executed, Aldrich Ames is still alive. Bill Calley was locked up for doing the same thing we pinned medals on other people for; only his motive was different. We hold people differentially accountable for criminal acts based on an estimate of their ability to understand the nature of the deed; how is that different than what we suggest here?"

"I don't know, sir. All I can tell you is that a lot of people think it is, and a lot of them vote."

Bartlet looked straight into McGarry's eyes. "Whatever happened to 'this is more important than re-election'?"

Leo sighed. "It was easy to say that when we couldn't yet feel their breath on our necks. It's time to decide, sir: do you want to be right, and be a one-term President, and leave this work half-done?"

"Do I have to decide right now?"

"The only thing you have to decide right now—or at least before you beg admittance from the Speaker—is whether you're willing to cut that section from the speech and give yourself time to make the bigger decision."

"There'll be hell to pay on the other end of the building, you know."

"Yes sir."

Leo watched his old friend pull the cloak of his office around his shoulders once more. "Do it."

"Yes sir."

Bartlet got up off the desk and headed toward the Portico door to go back to the Residence. "Leo?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Sir?"

"What is Donna really doing?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"No." He closed the Portico door behind him.

* * * * *

__

The Day After the State of the Union

Sarah was sitting at her desk poring over a briefing book when there was a knock at the door.

"Ms. Cooper?"

"Sheryl, hi! What brings you over to the OEOB?"

"Mrs. Bartlet wonders if you'd come downstairs to join her. She's trying to be inconspicuous."

__

Abbey Bartlet, inconspicuous. Right. "I'll be right with you."

Sarah grabbed her coat and headed for the elevator. Outside, Abbey waited in the Chevy Suburban reserved for under-the-radar excursions, wearing a huge scarf and heavy sunglasses. She looked as little like the First Lady as Sarah had ever seen her, worse even than their first meeting in the Presidential Suite at GWH.

The agents helped her transfer into the back of the Chevy, where Sarah got another shock: when Abbey took off the dark glasses, it was obvious that she had been crying.

Reaching for Sarah's hand, she said, "Well, I guess it's my turn to need a friend."

"You got it."

Abbey forced a smile. "I'd say 'your place or mine,' but mine is pretty crazy right now."

"No problem." She leaned up toward the driver. "Marissa, you know where the condo is, right?"

"Yes ma'am."

Once they got inside with Sheryl safely stationed outside the door, Sarah headed for the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"No, I can't eat," Abbey answered. "Haven't had an appetite for anything besides the innards of a couple of people we both know. Preferably roasted."

"Yeah, I saw the speech. What happened?"

"They had to cut for time, Jed told me. And if you believe that . . ." She sighed and pulled off the scarf and overcoat, and wandered over to the sofa. From the kitchen, Sarah could hear her swallow a sob.

She was back at the First Lady's side in a flash. "Hey," she said, taking Abbey's hand, "sit, talk. What happened?"

Words and tears both came out in a torrent. "Politicians break promises the way the rest of us break pencils, Sarah. He promised me— He promised me— Damn, him, he promised me!"

Sarah transferred over to the sofa and put her arms around her friend. "I've lost him. He's gone."

"Who, sweetie?"

"The man I married, the one I came here with three years ago. His name's Jed Bartlet, you seen him around?"

"I'm not sure, how would I know him if I did see him?"

"Well he's this goofy little geek who can't chew gum and walk at the same time. Last time I saw him he was lying on a gurney at GW trying to convince everyone that he was OK. Last night after the speech I thought I'd run into him in the kitchen, but dammit if it didn't turn out to be his doppleganger."

"His doppleganger?"

"That politician, the one who's running for reelection. You knew that, didn't you? They've already started to run again?" She sighed. "Of course you did. Leo's the Head Bastard in Charge."

__

Oh thank heaven. I can quit pretending I don't know. "You got that right."

"Last night I stood in that kitchen and watched my heart get up and walk away from me. I felt like I was sitting there while my whole life took a left turn I never intended. I absolutely did not recognize the man who refused to argue with me, but I finally figured out who he is. He's the Cop of the World. You remember that song, right?"

Sarah nodded. "Not a very flattering picture of your husband, hon."

"That's because he's not my husband. I don't know the guy. And yet, I feel like a cop's wife, waiting for the call; you know, the Chief of Police on the other end of the phone? Except there's no Chief of Police when you're the Cop of the World. Only the Secret Service. 'Mrs. Bartlet, you'd better come home, the President collapsed.' 'Mrs. Bartlet, there's been a shooting.'" She bit her lip as the tears came again. "Jesus, Sarah, I'm gonna lose him. And there's not one damn thing I can do about it."

"I dunno, maybe there is. Maybe there's a couple things."

Abbey reached for a tissue and dabbed at her face. "There are?"

"Yeah. Love the guy. If you do that, maybe you'll be able to see through the Cop to the fellow you married, just once in awhile."

"And the other thing?"

"Kick his ass when he needs it. Who else is gonna do that? Who else do you _want_ to have doing that?"

"I hear the voice of experience," Abbey muttered, stifling a smile.

"Yep. Difference is, I never knew Leo when he _wasn't_ Head Bastard in Charge. So I don't feel like I lost what I never had."

Sheryl tapped on the door. "Mrs. Bartlet? You OK? We need to be getting ready to go—"

Abbey finally smiled. "I gotta go address the Daughters of the Founders of Something or Other."

Sarah watched her get up and walk back toward the bathroom, her confident stride returning with every step. _That's five._


End file.
